Posts tagged ‘thor’

Y’know, I got no idea what that even means, but Outlaw’s decided she wants to learn French ta be all sophisticated and impress WB and whatever, ’cause last week they were at the mall pickin’ out boots an’ stuff and she swears he was eyein’ some haughty French chick’s holsters in Victoria’s Secret. Me, I’d be less amazed by him eyein’ one a’those A&F models they got wanderin’ around shirtless sometimes, but nobody asks me. Whatever the real story is, it’s been nothin’ but French on tape in the office sound system for the last three days, an’ even Bob’s gotten into the spirit. Yesterday he baked up some Battle Baguettes – they’re hard as a rock, but they make great stealth blackjacks. I gave one a try when Tasky came t’visit, and BOY, was he surprised.

As it so happens, I got a little down time right now (yeah, I know you thought you saw me down on the street th’other week, but y’know, who’s ta say I didn’t tell some other schmuck to go pretend t’be me fer awhile? Tasky was just whinin’ about how he needed a job), so I took a poll as t’what I oughta be doin’ just now. And the whole office said, “Get off yer lazy ass and answer some questions.” Well, ‘cept Tasky. He just told me ta go away before he stalked outta the joint. Sourpatch. We really gotta get him a girlfriend or somethin’. I wonder who we could hook ol’ skull-face up with…

Anyways, by popular consensus, I’ma gonna answer up a few questions now, an’ then I got a coupla announcements ta make.

What are your top five favorite horror movies? You know, the ones that scared the bejeebus out of even you?

Happy Haunting!
Ame

Well first I gotta say, sorry it took me until now to answer this question from OCTOBER. The months, they just kinda slip by when you’re busy fighting zombies an’ tryin’ ta out-think Norman “Brush Waves” Osborn an’ stuff. So, y’know, happy totally belated Halloween and many happy cavities. Now, then, lessee – favorite horror movies? Well,there’s a lotta fun blood an’guts movies out there, an’ it’s real hard ta pick just five. So instead I’m gonna go with the top five movies I’d show to torture someone I’d just tied up with the horror of how BAD they are. ‘Cause there are some movies out there that are so bad that the fact they exist just plain scares the bejeebus outta me.

Yeah, the idea that this movie exists pretty much scares me every time I think on it. I mean, ok, say what you will about the new Wolverine movie, but at least it didn’t require Hugh Jackman to utter a line like this:

Are you suggesting, madam, that there exists a law compelling a gentleman to lay hold of canine bowel movements?

with a straight face. OR Liev Schreiber to go on fer ten minutes about dogs an’ rainbows an’ cracks in chairs until we were all bored stupid. (Betchy’all had forgotten Jackman an’ Schreiber starred in a movie t’gether before Wolverine. I WISH I COULD FERGET.)

An’ then there’s the fact that a movie containing a line like this:

Behold, rising before you, the greatest erection on the continent… the greatest erection of the age… the greatest erection on the planet!

somehow still failed ta be either funny or interestin’ fer more than three seconds at a time.

So, yeah – the knowledge that some yutz out there thought it would be a good idea to actually make this movie AND managed ta get it done totally horrifies me. As did Hugh’s crotchtacular pants.

Not ta mention that’s 118 minutes of my life I will. Never. Get. Back. Not even with a healing factor.

An’ ya know, while we’re on the subject a’scarily craptastic romance movies, can we talk about Tribute? I mean, kudos to Ms. Roberts fer gettin’ one a’her stories on the tiny screen, an’ I know sometimes Hallmark’s hard up fer things ta air, but COME ON. That movie was so bad, I actually stopped watchin’ it in favor a’shovelin’ off the couch (no small task, I c’n tell ya!). The “I sleep in my boxers” scene? The sledgehammer photoshoot? CAN WE GET A RESHOOT, HERE? Pref’rably one that doesn’t contain this?? (Except that the parts where people were tryin’ ta kill her were kinda fun.)

Ya know what scares me the most about this movie, though? That anyone thought it had the right t’be on the same channel as MY BELOVED BEA. HALLMARK, YOU ARE ON MY NAUGHTY LIST.

So enough with tha romance movies, ’cause ya know, I usually don’t even watch romance (that’s Tasky!). Next up on the list has gotta be Nick of Time. You wanna talk awful cinema? This is the vid ta pop in the ol’ machine. Here we got 90 minutes of Johnny Depp (completely amazin’ actor!) runnin’ around tryin’ ta be a hero, and it’s the most boring thing I ever seen. An’ that includes the time some mobster mook buried me up ta th’neck in cement fer a week an’ all I had ta look at was a dead beetle decayin’. (Word ta the Wise: Don’t piss off the Maggia. They get their feelins hurt, they’re worse than Christian Bale when you ruin his scene (an’ they don’t even have the panache ta tell you you’re *&@$! DONE, PROFESSIONALLY before they stick yer ass in the wet concrete. Low-class schmucks.)) Th’best part a’this whole movie was the scene where the senator or whatever’s about ta get shot and she does this panicked double-take tryin’ ta find out where the shooter is. MAN, me an’Weas actually fell off the couch laughin’ at that scene. I kinda don’t think that was the goal a’the producers, though.

What’r we up to now, #4? OK, #4: Wild Wild West. It’s a movie about the old West. With a giant freakin’ mechanical spider runnin’ around. WHUT? I honestly forget what the hell else happens, except fer the part where Will Smith rapped in a movie he was in, AGAIN. (I was amazed he didn’t bust out with some lyrics durin’ I, Robot, actually. I was kinda expectin’ some:

Yo this is a story, all about how,
my life got flipped, turned upside-down.
The dude who gave me a mechanical arm,
jumped out the window an’ bought the farm!
The robot I hated turned out ta be nice,
but the rest’a them tried ta get me iced!”

OK, now someone out there’s gonna yell at me fer this last one, I got a feelin’, but whatever – I tell it like it is, an’ you got a problem with that, well, I’m always up fer throwin’ down. BRING IT. So here’s movie pick #5: Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World. (Yeah, I wish it was BURIED on The Far Side of the World.) I know some schmoes out there love this flick, but fer real? Here’s what I c’n remember after the 3.72 days I spent watchin’ it:

That’s some awesome advice, thanks! ;D
You know, I’ll totally consider getting into the [merc] business, is it possible to work past time as well? It might be just the thing to get some extra cash while I catch up on my studies…
If it doesn’t work out.. what else could I do? Any ideas?

Ya know, I got all sorts a’ideas as ta what people c’n do in their spare time ta make some cold hard cash. I recommend a job where, if ya tell people what you do, they look at you funny an’ then run away real quick. ‘Cause that kinda thing makes me laugh.

Ideal job ta try fer this? Chicken sexer. No, it ain’t what you think it is. An’ it’s not that, neither. Although I’d totally go for it if this sentence meant what any normal person would think it means: Mohamad “does” about 700 chicks a day, or three chicks every two minutes. MAN. Even MY healin’ factor would be workin’ overtime with that many women.

OK, so that’s all the questions I got time for today, but like I said, I got a coupla announcements ta make, an’ here they are:

1) Even though I KNOW all my loyal fans are payin’ close, CLOSE attention ta everything on my journal, including my links list, I figured I oughta mention my two svelte, smooth, spectacular affiliates, as featured on the sidebar, ’cause I don’t think I did that here yet. So, yeah: if you want to keep up on all the Deadpool news that’s fit ta print (an’ even I can’t hardly keep up with it these days. I’m everywhere!) the absolute best place ta do that is The Deadpool Bugle. That’s right, true believers! I HAVE MY VERY OWN NEWSPAPER. Take THAT, J. Jonah Jameson. An’ if you wanna check out some YouTube videos by a big fan of yours truly, go on an’ give Deadpool and Friends a try. Don’t miss this dude’s thoughts on my new movie, or his poll on which of my sweet-ass costumes was the best ever. (Quick answer: ALL OF ‘EM.) Go on! Click the links! You know you want to.

2) Hey, you guys remember way back in the day when I did a poll an’ asked if you wanted to see any other Agency members answerin’ questions here? (Of course you don’t. That was an ice age ago!) Well it’s finally THAT TIME. That’s right. By popular consensus, I will be allowing my pet pal BOB, AGENT OF HYDRAHail HYDRA! ta answer a few of yer questions.

Here’s how it’s gonna work: Got a question fer Bob? Great! Post it in the comments ta this entry. Then, I’m gonna let Bob pick his FIVE favorites an’ answer them in the next entry. An’ hey! If he doesn’t screw it up too bad, I may even do this again. (Don’t worry. I’ll answer more a’yer questions first!) I think Tasky’s next in the polls, an’ even though he swears up and down he doesn’t wanna “waste time with your stupid imaginary friends” I know he’s totally itchin’ fer a chance ta say hi ta you all. (We *really* need ta get him a girl or somethin’. He’s so mopey.)

Warning: Bob has informed me that if you ask a numbered question, he will NOT answer it. Apparently, numbered questions frighten Bob. He claims Alison used to number all her complaints whenever they had fights er whatever. So, yeah: no numbers for Bob!! He’s allergic!

Holy horny toads in a hot bayou, my fearsome followers! I am just about the slowest typist this side of Louisiana, ain’t I? Ah well, quit’cher complainin’, ’cause I just got paid fer a sneaky little recon job me an’ Outlaw pulled, so now I can take a few minutes to sit back, relax with some of Bob’s Icy Death Lemonade (Now! With Arctic Poison Ice!*), and answer some a’ your ingenious questions. Please, please – try to contain your excitement.

OK, then…lookin’ through the pile a’junk Sandi handed me on my way in…Ah! Here’s one that’s been festerin’ in the mail heap for awhile:

1. First things first: anyone else here see the irony a’ the Doc askin’ me what’s up? Yeah, I thought so. Now then, Doc, there’s a very simple explanation here, and it goes somethin’ like this: see, whenever Marvel prints an issue of my comic, the editors look at it, all shiny and pretty and new, and decide that you feebs don’t deserve such a wondrous piece of artistry. They decide they want t’keep ’em all! (You know the mooks who work in comics are the biggest geeky collectors of them all, after all.) So they go an’ sabotage the online subscription sign-up and order list, and then they lock all the issues up in The Special Vault. An’ then the accountants start crunchin’ numbers (as they do) and go on an’ on about pesky little things like “cost of supplies” and “overhead” and “profits” and what-all, and the editors cry and pout, an’ then the accountants haveta go down the hall and get Fred.

Fred’s a little slow, but he’s a big dude that don’t ask fer much pay, so they keep ‘im around for this stuff. So Fred goes and pries the new issues away from the editors, and beats up whichever one of them sabotaged the order list this week, an’ everything gets straightened out. But see, Doc, this whole song an’ dance happens every single issue, an’ it kinda slows things down. So that’s why it’s so hard to receive issues of my awesome comic on time. It’s because they’re SO AWESOME.

See? Wasn’t that a simple explanation?

2. You know, I’d say it’s gotta be the hair. I mean, we all know I’m one in a million and three, here, but Outlaw’s got this thing about pretty blonde hair, an’ I ain’t bin sportin’ that for a long while (X-Force #56, anyone?). So I prob’ly wouldn’t be much use on a trip t’the mall an’ the hair salon, plus last time we went I may have accidentally, y’know, inadvertently caused some murder an’ mayhem, and Outlaw hates it when things get between her and her sale items. Anyway, her la-di-da relationship with WB doesn’t really phase me. Whatever barbeques her ribs is cool with me, ’cause I got my eye on a different gal. But I do wish Thor wasn’t so goshdarned whiny.

1. Well, I know th’ mooks who run this LiveJournal carnival tend to frown on explicit written pornography, so in th’ interest of not rainin’ on their funnel cake stand, I’ll skip over how much seein’ Red spins my carousel, an’ just say that I’ll always have a little soft spot in my heart for th’ stunning songstress – prob’ly the spot right next to my love of sharp shiny things.

2. Man, I was embarrassed enough before anyone went around jumpin’ on couches and grinnin’ like a monkey on speed all the time. Lemme just say, no matter how much I may have looked like the dude, I never got so excited talking to people about my belief in aliens an’ explodin’ volcanoes or whatever that I looked like I was gonna spit a lung up at them. AND that I would rather be cursed with immortality than that face. Whew, what a narrow escape THAT was!

3. Ahh, who’s to say? Sandi got me an expense account there. She said it took some doin’ – apparently no one else in th’ known world had ever asked fer one. But then, I always knew I was special.

4. Are they free? Free for me? THEN HELL YES.

Anytime, baby. Now ninja on outta here and bring me a taco!

OK, one more before I go see if Agent Orca has left a single snack in the kitchen t’day.

…Well, I’m glad to hear that you still would want to team up with Nate after all that. Seriously, you guys are just awesome together. *fangirls*

But anyway, questions!

1. If you could get some kinda super tricked-out crimefi-I mean merc-work vehicle, what would it be? And what sort of features would it have?

2. What do you superhero/villian types normally wear under your costumes? Do any of them, you know, go commando? (Or just wear a little red thong like Tony Stark?)

3. Could you possibly find some way to jump into another comic book universe? If so, can you punch this guy in the face for me?-http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adrian_Veidt
Because he really needs to be punched in the face.

I’ll pay you in cookies. Or brownies, or cupcakes. Some type of baked goods. Please?

Ooh, numbered questions from the Monster of Spam! Shouldn’t they all be asking me if I want to expand my mojo with the little blue pills an’ things? Huh. Guess not. Ok, here we go!

1. You know those giant hamster balls? The ones where you can go rollin’ down hills an’ over th’ water an’ stuff? Well, I’m not sayin’ that would be my transportation a’choice, but it’s definitely gotta be a feature. Collapse one a’those down and pack it in the side compartment for the easy jobs, ya know? Because, I mean, what else strikes fear inta th’heart of whatever mafia goons you’re about ta knock off like a Giant Hamster Ball A’ Doom barrelin’ straight for them? Gets ’em every time, I tell ya, right about when I roll on over their heads. Other features, other features…OOH. Well, a smoothie machine, fer sure. Sometimes a brain freeze is just what my bubblin’ brain-pan needs. And a’course, some of us are easily distracted, so I guess I’d have ta heist one of Mr. Iron Man Stark’s little smart robots to rig up somewhere so it could hand me my smoothies and take the ladies’ phone numbers when I slow down at red lights and all that. An’ naturally I’d have some, y’know, homing missiles, spike-producin’ tires, crazy spy GPS tech, an’ pretty much everything else you’ve ever seen in a Bond movie.

But where would all this custom gear fit, you ask me? No contest! In a tricked out, souped up Ducati Superbike 1198 S, a’course. Don’t think I could fit it all in there? ‘Chya! A’course I could. Look at how much Tony fits in one little suit a’armor and tell me I couldn’t do even better with a Ducati! Not to mention their gear comes in my colors.

2. OK, now see, I don’t go around spyin’ on the other supercool peeps in their skivvies unless they happen t’be, y’know, women. So I can’t say one way or th’ other what Tony wears under that suit. An’ there are some things us superheroes (like me!) are totally sworn to secrecy on, like how Emma Frost manages to keep her top from falling down all the time (but oooh, wouldn’t you fanboys love to know how I found that one out). I will say, though, that those of us who wear spandex have a much easier time of it if we forget our briefs than kids like Tony. OUCH! An’ then you got crazy bastards like The Thing, who pretty much wanders around in his boxers all day without anyone sayin’ a word, even if he does look like magnified sandpaper. So pretty much what I’m sayin’ is it depends a whole lot on who we’re talkin’ about. Me, I get by with just about anything I can find that’s sorta clean at the moment, which usually means something with little Deadpool symbols on it, although I’m not above wearin’ the green panties if Bob hasn’t finished the laundry yet. I look pretty darned good in green. Yellow, too!

3. OK, I tell you what – if I ever get out of the crossover story I’m stuck in right now, I’ll take a little detour downtown to Veidt’s place and knock his lights out for ya. And you know? I’ll even do it for free. ‘Cause MAN, what a tool that dude is.

I won’t turn down baked goods if they’re offered, though.

P.S. Yes, to answer your other question, Nate *is* part pirate, thanks to his pirate captain granddaddy’s shenanigans (although I’m not sure his granddaddy was the sharpest splinter in the tinderbox. Who builds a plane out of wood these days?). In fact, one of his middle names I always forget t’list is “Yaarrrrrr.” I think it’s somewhere between “Christopher” and “Dayspring,” but who can remember? Anywho, I got him an eyepatch for his glowy-eye one Christmas, ’cause it was totally keeping me awake at night, but he refused to wear it unless I saluted him and called him “Yaarrrrrr.” He’s very respectful of his heritage. What a dork.

An’ that’s it for today, my friendly amigos. Bob’s cookin’ up some South a’the Border specialties fer dinner, and I don’t want to be late. You know how I love me some Mexican food.

So until next time, keep ’em revved and ready! (And I’m referring here to my elite fleet of Ducati motorcycles. You know, the ones I assume you all are buying for me as we speak. You haven’t started signin’ the papers yet? WELL GET TO IT. I accept both red and black paint jobs. Thank you.)

* Sandi would like to remind us all that Artic Poison Ice, while not harmful to regenerative wonders like me, is actually a serious matter that we should be trying to stop, even if it does leave Bob with less fun ingredients to experiment with. So recycle and save energy and and help stop global warming and all that jazz! Sandi thanks you.

What up, my mighty Marvel maenads? Well, ok, maybe you’re not maenads, but they sure sound like fun, don’t they? Like the kinda gal Wolverine would take for a romantic-but-bloody romp in the woods? Hey, I wonder if we could mail-order some of ‘em to hang around the office all scantily-clad and stuff. Give it that subtle touch of Early Greek Brothel and Nad– Madhouse. I bet ol’ WB would LOVE that! Maybe when it’s my turn to decorate…

Oh! Yeah, nearly forgot why I’m on the ol’ blog today. It’s because of this here Official Announcement I’ve just been handed. Seems the editors have been gettin’ a lot of confused letters from feebs who want to know why this journal ain’t “in continuity” or some $#!*. These mooks keep insisting that I’m not workin’ at the Agency right now (oh YEAH? Then who was it stole Cap’s TEENY WINGS, you answer me that?!) and that I’m actually killin’ Skrulls or some wacky thing. Which, actually…I am. Well, you know how it goes with comics these days – those wacko writers don’t never know the half of what’s REALLY going on – and the truth of it is, I been livin’ a little bit’a the double life since the Skrulls came to town. Half the time at the Agency, half the time freelancin’ for the Skrulls with a secret agenda of my own. (I do have a teleporter, y’know.) But I couldn’t talk about it before ‘cause, see, it was a secret agenda. That’s just how those things work!

But now that the cat’s outta the bag AND we’re gettin’ so many whiny complaints, the editors told me I’d better announce that from now on, along with the 12 million questions I already got backlogged and cloggin’ up the spittoons around here (yeah, I don’t know either. This week was Outlaw’s turn to decorate, and she says “it don’t feel like home without spittoons.” But whatever, they’re handy to store letters in) I’ll also be answerin’ questions about Skrulls, Secret Plans, and P– Poo– ah, geez— “Pool-o-vision,” shutupshutupshutUP. So, y’know, send me your questions on Those Pesky Green Dudes; How I Made Them All Commit Hari-Kari; What’s Up With That Guy Way; and stuff a’ that sort, and I’ll do my best to answer ‘em. Eventually.

Ahoy, thar, mateys! Weigh anchor and hoist th’ mizzen! Today be th’ day when all faithful buccaneers must Talk Like a Pirate, and ye know I must be following what th’ captain orders! So t’day, all yer bonny questions’ll be answered in the best pirate-speak that mercenary money can buy! Er somethin’ a’that nature, anyway.

Just in case ya scurvy dogs want to know what th’ crew’s been doin’ today, I SHALL TELL YE. Unlike a coupla days ago when I posted my lonely ballad a’woe, every last one a’those worthless seadogs in my profile is on deck at th’ Agency t’day. Even the faithless dog I never figured would be stridin’ th’ boards a’this vessel showed up fer a pint a’grog. I almost made ‘im walk the plank fer bein’ a low-down, dirrrty deserter, but chose to be a charitable captain and let him try some’a Bob’s special brew instead. Avast! Ye should ha’ seen his yaller eye glow as he choked on it! (Bob’s getting partic’ly good at Arsenic Limeade and Cyanide Stew these days! He’s always muckin’ about in th’ galley now.) I asked the scurrrvy varmint what he’s been doin’ with hisself since we divorced he went off t’find a different berth t’call his own, but he just looked all sorts a’serious and mumbled somethin’ vague ‘bout ‘babies.’ He didn’t stay long even though I offered him a place on th’ crew but said mayhap he’d be comin’ back through this patch’a sea soon and that he missed me like the dickens, that pansy feeb. I bade him ‘good riddance’ and downed a pint meself.

After that shockin’ happenstance, Orca X climbed back on board after a three-day shore leave. He’d been out practicin’ his cookin’ ‘cause th’ feeb wants to be on The Iron Chef. Apparently th’ booty fer winnin’ is now a lifetime supply a’victuals, but I don’t reckon Orca will make it to the treasure, even if there is an X in his name – all’a that fat gets in the way a’speedy cookin’.

Now that he’s back t’sitting on th’ couch, Outlaw and that feeb WB have deserted that berth fer the lobby. Methinks they’re playin’ tiddlywinks on the floor right now, ‘cause they’re a coupla crazy kids. And splice my mainsail, but me bonny lass Sandi’s gone a bit crazy as well! She’s waltzin’ around in a raggedy stripey skirt an’ eyepatch askin’ me iffen I want t’play some “special pirate games.” I dunno why she wants me t’tie her up and pretend she’s my pris’ner, but Weasel said he’d be game if I’m too lame. Me! Lame! Arrrrr! So now he’s a’followin’ her around and beggin’ her t’ ‘shiver his timbers,’ th’ fool.

In th’ middle a’all this, Irene stopped by, (woman’s got a sixth sense fer whenever Cable’s been in th’ vicinity) and kicked me ‘cause I hadn’t called her when the shiny mook came by. I suggested she’d better just hang around in my bed me until he came back, since we all know Priscilla can’t stay away from yarrrrs truly fer long, but she just kicked me again.

Right about then, Tasky wandered in, twelve sheets t’th’ wind (i.e. as drunk as a bedbug in a whisky fact’ry), and I realized there was ONE thing we were missin’ here at the office on Talk Like a Pirrrrrate Day. So I got lil’ Mary-O to give me a hand, and we hoisted ol’ Tasky up the yardarm outside so’s we could use his skelly little face as the middle of our new pirate flag. Tasky makes a fair bonny Jolly Roger, a’though he’d be a good sight bonnier if he didn’t look so gloomy all th’ time!

But hoist me up the mizzen mast and use me as a sail if it’s not time to be answerin’ some questions!

A close friend/person I am forced to deal with on an unfortunately regular basis is being a bit of a tyrant. It’s always her way or no way, even in matters she has no say over. She had a little power and it’s all gone to her head. Should my friends and I handle this internally, or should we outsource our rebellion?

Also, where do you get your costumes? And do you buy in bulk because you go through them so quickly?

Avast ye! I always say th’ best way t’handle uppity folks and mutiny in the crew is t’hire a strappin’ fine mercenary t’do yer dirrrrty work! And I just happen t’know a few who’re in th’ market. But if ye want t’handle it yerself, here’s a wee tip: th’ best approach is a direct approach. So drag yon bucko down to th’ brig, sit ‘er in the bilges, and explain t’her in kind, calm terms that unless she gets her arse offa her high horsie and starts lookin’ at ye more respectful-like, yer gonna have to, much as it breaks yer wee heart, keelhaul ‘er an’ send ‘er down t’shake hands with Davy Jones; th’ scallywag. I guarantee that’ll set the lassie straight!

As fer where I get me rig-and-getup, if me memory serves me right (and when don’t it, ‘cept always?), ‘twas at a custom costume shop, made ‘specially t’fit me manly’n’muscular physique. It was def’nitely not made outta Spider-man’s old cast-offs, that bilge-sucking arachnid! But what is this ‘buy’ of which ye do discourse? A cap’n like meself darsn’t lay down good doubloons fer what c’n be hornswaggled outta little pansy shopkeeps! Savvy?

alone?
dude your never alone when you have us around
but I have to ask how “Orca” X made it out the door?

Ah, me hearty, th’ fat landlubber deflated some after his disgustin’ love affair with chips’n’applesauce came t’an unsightly end, but really it was th’ grenade I lobbed at WB a coupla days ago that did it. Didn’t leave a mark on that son of a biscuit eater, but our doorway got a whole lot bigger.

Arrr! Sandi’s callin’ fer me t’come ‘n’ batten down th’ hatches ‘cause a storm’s a-comin’ through, so until next time, lasso a big bag a’pieces of eight and heave-ho that booty on board!

Flaming fruity flamenco free-for-all, my vivacious visitors! It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? I bet y’all been wonderin’ what happened, but don’t worry, we’re all still alive and well (for a given definition of “well,” that is. Tasky’s at least stopped tryin’ to chug the Windex). Of all the weird places I coulda been for the last month, I bet you’ll never guess where I actually was. So I’ll tell ya! England!

Yeah, really. Sandi’s got some major crush on this wacky writer dude who thinks the world is magical and flat, and she made me go all the way to England with her so she could hear him talk about wizzards or some crazy &($#. Also I think there were turtles involved. I dunno – I don’t read. Well, except for Playboy. And Maxim. And…hey, you know, I guess I read a lot, actually. They got some good articles in there.

Anyway, Sandi got to interview that feeb, so now she’s all happy and giggly and crap. Me, I’m happy ‘cause we managed to actually do a job in between all the dodging-crazy-mooks-in-wacko-costumes. Which is why we could afford to go to England in the first place. Too bad I can’t tell you what it was, but I can say it involved a certain footballer’s wife who loves Karl Lagerfeld. Oh, @*&@. Did I say that out loud? I don’t think I was really s’pposed to say that either.

It paid real well, though, I can tell ya that, so after Sandi was done fainting or hyperventilating or whatever, we went sightseeing in big ol’ Londontown for awhile. Don’t worry, though, it was very tame – I didn’t impale anyone on the hands of Big Ben or nothin’. Even when it took us, like, 100 years to find The Geek Store so I could buy me some Star Wars doll heads. “It’s near Piccadilly Circus,” my ASS.

We left Outlaw and her whiny boyfriend in charge of the Agency while we were out, though, and whoo-boy, can I tell you, that was a BIG mistake. Got back yesterday to find Whiny Boyfriend had “redecorated” while we were out. The whole place was freakin’ Greek columns and pictures of half-naked dudes in togas (I suspect Outlaw suggested that part, but then, I also suspect WB didn’t mind too much – no man who takes that much care of his hair ain’t a bit fruity). Stupid WB said it “reminded me of home.” That big whiny mama’s boy. Loki would be so ashamed. Anyway, just got the place back in some kinda order (and threw WB in the closet to think about his bad taste – but I guess we’ll let him out one’a these days if he asks real nice), so now I am so totally ready to…answer some questions! Yeah, I know you feebs are thrilled. So, sorting through the random London postcards and socks with British flags on ‘em that Sandi bought for no reason whatsoever…ah-ha! Here’s a letter!

1) Have you ever considered starring in a videogame with Kirby… like Super Smash Bros. for instance?

annnnnd…

2) If you had ten minutes to talk to any person on any subject and get truthful answers, who would it be and what subject? Person may be alive or dead.

Seriously, it’s a lot of fun to hang around here. Hope you are doing well. I’ve got to go do a few more edits to some correspondence that’s got to get out of my office, so I’ll see you around!

All the best, Lady_of_Mists

Ooh, numbered questions! OOH.

1) Well, Lady, you know I’m the best there is at whatever it is Wolverine does, but I gotta tell ya, Kirby scares the ever-wise-crackin’ daylights outta everyone I know, even me. You know why? WELL, I’LL TELL YA WHY: it’s cause he’s tricky. Yep, tricky like a Sunday whore turnin’ tricks on the corner’a Broad and Maple.

See, li’l pink dude looks like a helium-inflated marshmallow with big, round, innocent doe eyes (for serious – those things are like a cuteness overload – I mean, even Toby Maguire can’t match Kirby’s lethal levels of Cute) but just when you’re least expecting it, he turns into a big weight or some %#*# and falls on your head! BAM! Also he’s pink, and you can’t tell me that’s by accident. I mean, everyone knows it’s the ones that dress in pink and purple that’ll sit around lookin’ like they ain’t got nothin’ and then turn on you in a second and do somethin’ crazy, like whack you with a $*&@~# wooden mallet. And don’t even get me started on the whole ‘swallowing people’ thing. Once was more than enough for me, thanks.

So I gotta say, if I was ever in a game with the the li’l pink Stay-Puft, I’d wanna be on his side. A’course, he is dimmer than an energy-savin’ lightbulb outside on a sunny day; I mean, I’ve met the dude, and he couldn’t find his way outta a wet paper bag without big green neon signs blaring “THIS WAY OUT!” (and even then it’s iffy) but that don’t seem to affect his fighting none – he just bounces around like a chinchilla on Ritalin and hits everything in sight. So, yeah – I’d pick him first in dodgeball, I can tell ya that. The other team’d be wettin’ their Spider-man Underoos before you could even say ‘Play ball.’

2) Ten minutes, huh? I guess we’d have to talk real fast, but I got practice in the talking department. And truthful answers? Oh, this one’s easy. DICK CHENEY. And politics. I mean, could you imagine what that feeb would come out with if he had ta tell the truth about that crap for ten minutes? No bull#@%$, no wacky “well-maybe-I-did-maybe-the-sky-is-really-green-you-never-know-hey-look-over-there” evasive maneuvers, just tellin’ it like it is? Man, it’d be hilarious. And I know you’re wonderin’, “wait, why didn’t the Pool-man say ‘Bush,’ then?” But we all know that mook don’t got nothin’. We all know where it’s really at.

Now, if you’d just give me another coupla choices, we could get Barack Barack Barack Barack and that lame-o McCain to say what they’re really thinkin’, too. And maybe even the book-burnin’ governor of snowdrifts! Can you imagine that? The most honest election in history! …Yeah, I know, that’s a concept so alien that only my wacky brain could ever come up with it. And that’s why I’m the best guy ever.

Now, on to the next…oh, hang on. Sandi wants me to help her with something. BRB!

…

Well that was weird. Sandi signed up for some drawing class or something t’other day, and she just asked me to stand on one’a WB’s little Greek pedestals for about an hour with nothin’ on so she could “get her anatomy right.” I mean, there ain’t nothin’ wrong with her anatomy, if ya know what I mean; but I can’t figure why she wanted to see mine for so long. Only the really kinky girls ever want that. You know, the ones that get off on scars and &*^$. Also she didn’t seem to be usin’ the pencils that much. Hm.

1. Have you ever thought about writing up a guide for newbie mercenaries? Sort of like the Evil Overlord List.

2. Which is your favorite Evil Overlord rule?

Have fun screwing with Cap’s head!
Ame

Man, this one’s an oldie – sorry it took me so long to get back here that the good wishes on the Cap job ain’t even topical anymore. I promise to do better next time. Well, at least until I get distracted by–

–oh, sorry about that. Now what was I…oh yeah. Questions.

AND NUMBERED ONES, AT THAT. YAY!

1. Ya know, the thought has occurred to me, followed quickly by the more important thought: “Would I get paid for it?” ‘Cause if not, what is the point? But maybe, just maybe for you I’ll throw something together one’a these days.

2. #100, of course. You could use this one on most of the known world and never even have to deal with any feebs ‘fomenting rebellion’ ‘cause they’d all be too busy readin’ someone’s exciting Q&A blog! Although all the rules are pretty darn canny, actually. (Isn’t ‘canny’ a fun word? I could say over and over again forever (Serious. Try it sometime. It’s mega-fun.)). This guy really knows his stuff. Huh. Maybe I should go TAKE. HIM. OUT.

…Oh, whoops! Sandi just yelled out that she “didn’t get my nose quite right” so I gotta go take off the spandex again.